


A Peculiar Nuisance

by oxymoronic



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Character Death Fix, Dubious Consent, Early Work, Fix-It, M/M, One Shot, Post At World's End
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-24
Updated: 2012-02-24
Packaged: 2017-10-31 16:35:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/346209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oxymoronic/pseuds/oxymoronic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which a revived James Norrington is forced to broker a deal with Barbossa for Elizabeth's freedom; fetch Jack Sparrow's compass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Peculiar Nuisance

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at my LJ [here]().

James Norrington woke up, which is always a pleasant surprise, especially seeing as he was supposed to be dead. His head seemed to agree with the facts; it throbbed painfully, and his tongue was heavy and covered with gunk. “I’d lay still if I were you,” an unknown face advised from a nearby chair. “I expect the captain’ll want to be having a word, and it wouldn’t be doing you much good to knock yourself back out again.” James stopped struggling and sighed; the pirate spoke sense.

“May I enquire to the name of the captain?” he muttered hoarsely, rubbing his eyes as he levered himself into a sensible, slightly more vertical position.

The pirate grinned. “I’m disinclined to acquiesce your request,” he sneered. Clearly this was some private joke; the two by the door jeered in what was supposed to be a snigger. After a few moments of sniggering they stopped, smiles still in place. “Means no,” one of the men by the door explained helpfully; James had known the sort, he had appeared a tad dimwitted. Sure enough, Door Pirate number 1 smacked him on the arm with a scowl.

“Yes, I’m perfectly aware of that,” James said with a long, drawn-out sigh. Pirates. He had forgotten.

A larger head was stuck round the door; James knew enough about pirates to know he was in a position of command. The pirates themselves seemed to find size an indeterminable measure of how piratey one was; brains over brawn appeared to have never reached their shrivelled ears. Then again, if he were to mention the phrase to them, they would have probably thought he was speaking about seafood. “The captain will see him now.” His tone was unquestionable, and James shunned chair-pirate’s hand and stood; he cast an eye about, vaguely recognising the ship, but not quite enough to cause him to be able to identify it. It was really quite infuriating. He made his way across and out of the door on surprisingly steady feet; this was evidently the captain’s quarters, as there were few crew members around. Half-forgotten memories preyed on his consciousness, as if he _knew_ the place, but didn’t… it was all driving him quite mad, and he was quite glad when he finally followed the large pirate into a dining room he definitely did not recognise, set with as much of a meal as can be expected on board a pirate ship. His captain appeared to be sitting across the table; he spread his arms, and James took the invitation, sitting down.

“I know you,” James said slowly. “I heard the crew talking. You’re Barbossa. Sparrow shot you.”

Barbossa grinned. “And Bootstrap stabbed you.”

James nodded. “Fair point.” He reached over and took a bite out of a hunk of bread, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand in a genteel motion that seemed quite out of place in front of a Pirate Lord. Barbossa narrowed his eyes, avoiding the food altogether; James, having spent quite enough time with pirates not to feel rude, continued to eat.

“I expect you’ll be wanting to know how you got here,” Barbossa finally said as he watched James eat.

“I must admit, the question has crossed my mind,” James admitted between mouthfuls, smiling slightly.

Barbossa was used to sarcasm. He was a pirate. “Have you ever heard of Tia Dalma?” James shook his head, mouth full, and muttered as much as he could.

“The crew very significantly did not speak about her,” he said, and took another bite. If possible, Barbossa’s eyes narrowed slightly more.

“Calypso, then?” James’ snort of displeasure was enough of a response. “Ah. I take it the name rings a bell?”

James sighed, finishing his mouthful and deigning it of more use not to replace it with another. “Sparrow’s prattle about Jones’ chest was at least viable and provable, but sea goddesses? Please.”

His hand paused over the grapes, before setting on an apple. Barbossa watched him eat it with ravenous eyes; a suspicion seemed to be confirmed, though James had no idea what he had done to do so. “It was by her power you came back to this world, Admiral, so I’d keep that tongue of yours in check.”

James’ eyebrow rose. “And where is my rescuer, in order for me to bestow my cries of thanks?”

“Sitting in front of you,” Barbossa said smugly, leaning back in his chair and spreading his arms. James simply kept his eyebrow raised. “No, I’m not Calypso,” Barbossa huffed, rolling his eyes. “But it was by her power I came back and so I know the ways myself.”

James couldn’t help his cynical nature. It was part of his charm. “And out of all the people you could have raised you chose me?”

“Nice to know you’re so grateful,” Barbossa replied, sounding a tad petulant. “Let’s just say… my current target always had a fondness for you. Was rooting for you, as it were.”

James sighed. “It had been too much to hope for that you brought me back out of the kindness of your heart. What do you want me to do?”

Barbossa nodded to someone behind him. “I don’t suppose _he’s_ recognisable?” James turned and saw a large, tanned man holding a small boy, six or seven by the looks of him. He had a vaguely recognisable face, but James couldn’t place it. He turned back and shook his head; Barbossa nodded. “It was a long shot,” he admitted, and looked to his left. “Her?”

A woman was shoved into view, her hair wild and her arms restrained but her face and voice he instantly knew. “Where is he?” she yelled to Barbossa, struggling furiously. “Where is my son?!”

James sprang to his feet. “Elizabeth!” he cried, only to find cold steel press against his throat and another blade to slide across Elizabeth’s. Their eyes met, both wide with astonishment.

“James?” she whispered, dumbstruck. A hand was clamped across her mouth and she was dragged, kicking and shrieking from the room. A quiet noise behind him noted the removal of what now appeared to be Elizabeth’s son, which explained his vague recognition; he looked so very much like his father…

“What was that?!” James snarled, voice clipped with anger but body restrained by the blade at his throat. Elizabeth was Barbossa’s _current target_?! And what had he meant by having a certain fondness? Previously-destroyed hope bubbled up in his chest, and he quashed it – though, sadly, as ever, not completely.

Barbossa frowned slightly. “Call it… motive.” He stood up and tickled a small monkey behind the ear. “I have a need to locate Jack Sparrow. He has something that I want.”

James shifted in his chair, mind exploding. Sparrow was his target? The elusive words from earlier, having a certain _fondness_ , preyed on his thoughts. “You already have the _Pearl_ , what more is there?”

Barbossa’s smile spread. “So you _do_ recognise her?” James said nothing; he had as soon as he saw the boy, a door behind him throwing a tantalising glimpse of the deck beyond. “It’s true, I managed to wrestle back my ship from him, but there’s something else I’d like. I believe you’ve been asked to find it before?”

James frowned. “The compass?”

Barbossa’s teeth glittered in the candlelight. “Aye. The compass.”

“But he keeps it on him at all times, how – ”

“The means I am not interested in, Admiral, merely that they lead to the end product,” Barbossa snapped abruptly. James closed his mouth, eyes blazing.

“The deal?” he said finally, when he was able to steady his voice.

“You get me the compass,” Barbossa replied, enunciating each word as if speaking to a small child.

James ignored the patronising tone. “And in return?”

“I keep you alive, and Mrs Turner and her son get their freedom.”

“At Tortuga. As soon as I hand over the compass.” Barbossa’s eyes narrowed; James had known enough of pirate trickery to know he had to specify every detail.

“Done,” he said finally, and shook James’ hand. A noise behind him announced the return of the man who had escorted him before; the same who had kept hold of Elizabeth’s son. Had she called him Will, he wondered, and where was the father now? “Anything else you require?”

James closed his eyes, focusing his mind on the present. “I have two requests, if I may?”

Barbossa regarded him closely. “Speak them.”

“The first is that you drop me at a port of my choosing.”

Barbossa nodded. “’Tis fair. What port do you choose?”

“I can tell you after you fulfil my second request. I want to speak to Elizabeth.” Barbossa nodded, more to the man behind him than in agreement. The sword at his neck was dropped and James stood, Barbossa addressing his earlier escort. “McAvinger, take the Admiral to the brig. And not into it, I believe our previous conversation would suffice in how to correctly fulfil your orders, but I can never tell with you.” James’ arm was seized and he was brought rather than lead to the door. “And gently, please, we don’t want any harm done to him.” McAvinger seemed to disagree, but let James’ arm drop, and he clutched at it protectively, glaring. He was lead to the brig, keeping his eyes down; any altercation may result in him being unable to speak to Elizabeth, his heart burning in fear for her, and pirates took _any_ gesture as a means to initiate altercations. He was roughly pushed down the steps, before McAvinger moved off to the main cell to address what appeared to be a writhing heap in short, angry, Scottish barks. Elizabeth was separate with her son, in a cell to the side. He hurried over and crouched beside her, wrapping his fingers around the bars. “Elizabeth?” he whispered. McAvinger’s shouts grew louder as the mound separated out to reveal three men, who were brawling about who should stay closer to the second cell.

Elizabeth quickly moved across, gripping the bars below his hands. She smiled and his heart swelled. “James, it _is_ you, oh it’s so good – ”

James waved his hand, eyeing McAvinger nervously. “There isn’t time,” he murmured softly. “Does Sparrow know I’m dead?” he said quickly.

Elizabeth seemed flustered by the question, but responded urgently at the look in his eyes. “I don’t think so, not specifically, a lot of Navy men died that day and I never told him, but it’s been so long, someone could have easily told him – ”

“How long has it been?” James interrupted neatly, bracing himself.

“Six and a half years,” she said quietly, and James grimaced.

“Barbossa must want this compass very badly to bring me back after all this time,” James muttered to himself, spurring another horde of questions from Elizabeth he silenced with a second wave. “I need to know where to find him, will Tortuga still be safe?” Elizabeth nodded slightly, biting her lip, trying to keep in the millions of questions and apologies. “Listen, I’ve made a deal with Barbossa. He promises you and your son’s freedom. I _will_ return for you,” he whispered. McAvinger placed a hand on his shoulder and James stood, keeping his eyes locked with Elizabeth’s. He smiled sadly. “He looks just like his father,” he said softly and was lead back to the captain.

“Where’ll it be, Admiral?” Barbossa drawled.

“Tortuga,” James replied, and turned to face the sea.

 

 

There was a certain knack to being noticed. Not being noticed was very easy, especially in a place such as Tortuga; being noticed, on the other hand, was much more difficult, especially if you were trying not to seem like you were trying to be noticed. James couldn’t afford to simply go _up_ to any of Jack’s painstakingly rebuilt crew, as they’d not look at him twice before stabbing him for betrayal or just for the fun of it. But he had to be seen; no, much safer to let them come to him. He situated himself in a place which was noticeable, unthreatening, and yet unmistakeably tantalising. Eventually his efforts paid out, and it was Gibbs who staggered over. “I know you,” he said slowly, peering at James through rum-fogged eyes.

“Yes, I expect so,” James replied calmly, and sipped on his glass again before standing up and turning to leave.

“Wai’, wai’, I do know you! It’s C-C-omm. Comma, communications, no, comm-o-.” He seemed to struggle with the word, and James sighed, long and slow.

“It’s Admiral now, actually, but I do think that if you’ve found me here then I’m rather past all that, hmm?” He had to orchestrate it delicately; give Gibbs enough to keep him talking, whilst not making him suspicious.

“Ent many Navy folk left heer,” he said with another swig.

“None at all, I shouldn’t wonder,” James replied, nose wrinkling in distaste.

“I expect Jack’ll w-w-want to have a word with you,” he managed to stutter out, patting him clumsily on the chest.

“I thought as much,” James sighed dramatically. “Where is he?” Gibbs just about managed to gesture in one direction before collapsing in a happy heap at James’ feet. James wrinkled his nose again before stepping over his figure. He squinted into the early-morning sun and noticed Sparrow by the boats; he walked over and patted him on the shoulder.

“Eh?” Sparrow turned around and then just _stared_.

“Gibbs said you wanted a word.” In a manner of speaking. “Do you?” “Ahh,” Sparrow said, articulate as always, before pulling out his sword, pressing the tip against James’ chest as he stared at him for a long, long while. “You’re not dead.”

“Neither are you, it would seem. That seems to be a good start to the conversation.” James raised an eyebrow. “So which one of these sorry lumps of wood is yours, then?” he continued after a while of more, rather lengthy stares.

“What interest is it to you?” Sparrow said hurriedly, his eyes narrowed in a suspicious manner.

“Technically I’m still a member of your sad crew, as much as it may depress me. That is, if you still want me.” He raised a fine eyebrow questioningly.

Sparrow stared. “Technically, you betrayed us all and nicked the heart for your lonesome.”

James grinned. “Technically, I took the chest and ran off to help your escape. It wasn’t my fault if the heart was poorly hidden.”

Sparrow regarded him for a slow moment. “Let’s not bother with trivialities,” he said finally, waving his hands and smiling.

“My thoughts exactly,” James replied with a half-smile. “So am I to go aboard or not?”

Sparrow seemed to consult his compass for a moment; James could barely keep his eyes off it, knowing if he just reached out and snatched it now Elizabeth would be free… It was removed from temptation into innumerable shirts, the pirate’s face a grimace, not liking what he had seen. “It appears you are,” he snapped, and went up a nearby ladder to what turned out to be his ship. James sighed, picked up a nearby barrel and ascended himself.

 

 

Aboard, he was treated with a similar amount of distaste, contempt and admiration, but generally he was ignored. Half of the crew knew him from before; they were suspicious at first, but grudges didn’t settle in their hearts, not when James was such a dab hand at… well, everything, really, and could occasionally make the captain see sense and take aboard something shiny. The other half had no idea of his naval background, which was fortunate, as they would have probably skinned him alive if they did. He spent a considerable amount of the voyage in the rigging, staring off into the horizon; he even had a brief stint in the crow’s nest, as Sparrow seemed to think that it was something he enjoyed. When questioned, he replied he didn’t, and wasn’t placed there any more. He decided he’d have to stop avoiding Sparrow in the rigging someday; he needed that compass.

Much to his dismay, there was very rarely a time when Sparrow disrobed enough to remove the compass from his belt. The man didn’t bathe, and he rarely changed his clothes; any time he did see fit to remove the stinking garments he’d always do it alone, and after which he’d come out with the compass firmly strapped in again. He waited painstaking weeks of staring at the doors to Sparrow’s cabin, _knowing_ what would set Elizabeth free lay behind the doors, but _knowing_ there was no way he could take it. However, his patience paid off, and he eventually made a discovery; once, when they made port, the crew went off whoring. He’d half expected Sparrow to stay with the boat, but Sparrow ordered Gibbs and him to stay and went off in search of pleasurable company himself. James had followed him, only to find to his frustration Sparrow knew more back alleys than he could ever imagine and lost him within moments. He returned to the ship and waited till the next time they made port, determined not to lose him, but yet again he seemed frustratingly hard to follow. James ended up getting hopelessly lost and only just making it back to the ship as they set off, the other crew members jeering, asking which pretty ankle had turned his eye.

Sparrow was at the helm. He looked distinctly unimpressed when James moved beside him, casting him a long, penetrating look before moving off again. James sighed, leant on the rail and forced himself to remember why he was doing all this.

It was the sixth, maybe seventh time Sparrow slipped into the shadows before James managed not to lose him. It was a smaller town, perhaps, or the pirate was distracted, but in any rate he tailed him until he entered the small brothel. He stood outside for a long while, wondering whether he would emerge and move on, before deciding that if he was to try and steal this compass he’d have to do it quickly to get away before daybreak. He moved inside, ignoring the jeers from the doormen, and the ladies who brushed up to him as he entered. He heard a familiar laugh from upstairs, and made to go up. “You sure, love?” an unnamed lady with questionable morals whispered in his ear. “There’s a lot to be had down here without having to go up there.” James thanked her quietly for her consideration before moving upstairs, padding through the corridors.

Upstairs, there were no ladies, at least. It was worse. The _men_ looked up at him, peered from shadows; more boys than men, each with either dull or fresh, frightened eyes. He felt slightly sick as he moved between them, trying to keep his eyes away. Only one room was occupied, and it was clear from the dull, rhythmic thumping what was occurring inside; nevertheless, James bent down and pressed an eye to the keyhole.

Almost immediately he twisted away and pushed his back into the wall, staring at the ceiling, nails digging into his palm as he tried to forget the sight of a very naked, very sweaty Jack up against an equally disrobed unnamed individual. _Naked, naked_ , his brain reminded him. _If he’s naked the compass is somewhere else._ He leant forward to make another sweep of the room, but before his eye met with the keyhole there was a long, low and slightly haggard moan, followed by the fumbling of fingers with clothes. James panicked, scrabbling away, hiding round a corner and peering nervously as a fully-clothed Sparrow moved away. He stood against the wall for a while, contemplating what his brain was proffering as the best plan. Was this what Barbossa had meant when he said Sparrow had a fondness for him? He had hardly shown him any inkling of it before. Perhaps it was just his corrupted brain that was drawing connections, and the thing which was formulating in his brain would never work. Sparrow was smarter than that… wasn’t he?

His plan regrettably slotted into place; he hated every second of it but knew that for Elizabeth’s freedom there really was no other choice.

Breaking Sparrow’s heart and perhaps his own mind was nothing for the safety of the one he loved.

 

 

James had retreated back up to the rigging to think; however, his hands had become twitchy, searching for something to do, and so he pulled out a piece of driftwood and his knife and began to hack. Shavings tumbled down, skittering onto the floor where Cotton’s parrot would occasionally peck at them, or they would land on the occasional crewman’s nose – or, finally and most amusingly, in Sparrow’s hat.

Sparrow looked up, and found him in the rigging. “What are you doing up there?” he yelled up, and James looked back down.

“Whittling,” he replied calmly, and set about it again. Around him, the night glistened with stars, and his mind drifted for a moment before he refocused on the task in hand. Sparrow was still staring up at him.

“Well, now that you come to mention it, I suppose it is rather obvious,” Sparrow replied as he climbed up. James sighed in exasperation; he seemed incapable of finding any solitude, and had hoped that with the majority of the crew asleep his new location was failsafe, but his captain perched beside him at last, and was watching him with hooded eyes. “What are you intending to do with said piece of wood?”

He looked down, and discovered he’d rather unconsciously fashioned it into a blade-shaped triangle. He ran his finger along it, removing splinters. It was rather sharp. He looked back up at Sparrow. “It was not about the creation of the object, rather more the occupation of my hands whilst I dwelt in my thoughts at the time.”

“Thoughts which were inadvertently directed at me, I could guess from the general sharp and pointy shape of said object.” Sparrow raised his eyebrow.

James smiled. “I don’t know. It might be the more phallic nature of the shape, mightn’t it?” He peeked up at his captain.

Sparrow had no idea what he was talking about; his expression remained infuriatingly chipper. “Ah,” he said, trying to look intelligent. James smirked to himself and began moving his hand in even strokes again, sharpening the ‘blade’, but due to his earlier comment the shape was beginning to feel dirty in his hands, and he eventually put it down and stared out at the horizon. He would have liked to say that he joined the eyes of his captain, but his captain’s eyes seemed to be fixed on a location much closer to home.

He looked along said gaze, and said, rather irritably, “what?”

Sparrow cast his eyes away, following James’ earlier route. James’ plan bubbled unpleasantly to the top of his thoughts, and he knew that there was really, really not much more time before Barbossa got impatient and did something dreadful to Elizabeth he’d rather not contemplate. So, closing his eyes, trying to focus on anyone and anything but where he was, he leant forward and kissed him.

It would have been nice if Sparrow wasn’t quite so unresponsive, he decided as his chin scraped across the other’s. There was nothing there; at least the last person he kissed, _Elizabeth_ , had sort-of kissed back, but here there was nothing but mild surprise. He made to pull away, but finally Sparrow seemed to make his mind up and pushed back, softly, hesitantly. It had been odd, kissing him, James realized. More hair than he was used to, he put it down to, and a different face beneath his fingertips. When he finally tugged away, Sparrow was staring back at him with a gentle incredulity. “I think that took you long enough,” he whispered softly, and started to climb down.

James watched him go, before realizing that if he were to disrobe Sparrow far enough to get the compass he’d really have to follow. He scrambled down after, landing beside Sparrow, casting an eye about the deck. Only a singular beady black one replied, and because of this he tugged at Sparrow’s arm till he was facing him again, and pressed against him again. He felt ever so slightly sick; Sparrow _stank_ , and as much as homosexuality was rife within their profession it wasn’t what _floated his boat_ , as it were. Still, he gripped harder and thought of Elizabeth, thought of the sacrifices she must have made, and kissed. Sparrow pulled away, grinning in a way he must have believed was elusive, and moved inside his quarters. James cast another wary eye around before following him in.

Sparrow seemed determined to get what he wanted; his hands were already on James the moment he stepped through the door, and it was all James could do to hesitantly disrobe his partner, watching the layers shed away, running fingers on burning scars. Sparrow’s shirts were removed; still no sign of the compass, and the other seemed to be insisting on doing something slightly wicked with his tongue on James’ neck, which was rather making James lose his train of thought; the other was hopelessly persistent, hands burrowed in James’ trousers, tugging and pulling at the intricate fastenings as James’ head dropped back and he stared at the ceiling, lost inside the wet tongue for a moment.

He realized that it was much, much too late when sheets met the back of his knees; the damn pirate’s tongue had made him completely lose track of his plan, of the compass, of their location, of pretty much everything, and now their clothes lay abandoned out of James’ reach, along with the compass and Elizabeth’s freedom. The plan had, admittedly, been to incapacitate Sparrow before it got this far forward and make off with the compass whilst he lay on the deck, but thanks to the aforementioned muscle on James’ neck he’d missed his chance. The mouth had returned; Sparrow bit hard, leaving a mark, and James hissed; it had been a show of possession, he knew, but it made his gut writhe in anger that he had allowed himself to _be_ possessed by this goddamned pirate. The world fell for a moment as Sparrow shoved him back on the sheet, scrambling forward and pinning him down before James could writhe into a position in which he could knock Sparrow out. His evil tongue was pressing insistently on the earlier mark, moving in languid circles, whilst a hand dipped lower across his spine. James closed his eyes and burrowed his face in Sparrow’s neck, hiding; this was more than he had planned to have to bear, more than he had planned to let Sparrow do, more than he had planned Sparrow to have to _lose_ …

He was cut off by his own hiss of breath; Sparrow had taken his distraction as acquiescence and had slid two fingers inside, and it _hurt_. He moved them gently, and the painful slip-slide of muscles was more than James could take; it wasn’t so much the searing pain, he could cope with pain, but the clumsily tender way Sparrow insisted on doing it. This was more than he ever, ever wanted to do; it was betraying a friend, leading him on, and breaking his heart. It was worse than piracy, and he would be damned for it.

“I’m fine,” he whispered, deciding he couldn’t take the soft way Sparrow’s other hand was moving on his hip. “Please,” he begged, knowing Sparrow would not know what he was asking for; he was pleading for the pirate to run, before James trampled both of their hearts irreparably. Sparrow stayed where he was, though, removing the fingers and pressing his hands palms-down onto the sheets either side of James’ waist and sliding forwards across the sheets.

James revelled in the pain, in the white-hot searing agony which engulfed him. It was a means for escape and he took it, slamming his eyes shut and breaking away as much as he could, feeling ready to curl up in a ball and cry. It did not last forever, unfortunately, and his eyes fluttered open again; Sparrow was deathly still, his eyes boring into the pillow beside James’ head, mouth hanging open as he took in deep, steady breaths. James’ hands ghosted across the scar on the opposite arm to his brand, feeling the web against his fingers. Sparrow’s eyes snapped to his, and James looked up, nodding once.

The ache returned; Sparrow’s hips were shimmying across the sheets, and James let his eyes slide shut once more, keeping Elizabeth’s face in his mind, forcing himself to remember the task in hand. Her face wouldn’t stay, however; no matter how long or how hard he concentrated, she slipped from his mind like silk, and was consumed by Sparrow’s face, voice, touch, gentle press of fingers against his, hot, sliding tongue against his neck. The aforementioned voice cut across his fogged mind; it was hoarse, clipped with pleasure, but undeniably concerned. “You’re bleeding,” it whispered, and James stared at the sheets below them, vivid scarlet impressing patterns on the material.

“Yes, I should think so,” he gasped back, finding his voice was not as easily accessible as he had thought it was.

Sparrow stared at him for a long while, the creaks around them painfully loud, the sloshing of the sea so close slightly soporific, but their minds so painfully sharpened by each other they could do nothing but stare. “Why are you doing this?” he said eventually, and James looked up at him with what he realized were tear-fogged eyes.

“I don’t know,” he whispered honestly, and the pain which wrenched him in two was of the heart, stronger and much more insistent than of the body; he pressed up on his elbows, kissing the other, and it was harder, more persistent than before; he didn’t understand anything in his life anymore, but whoever this was above him, in him, they were touching him, holding him, and he didn’t want them to let go.

Sparrow started his slip-slide again, and James let out a keen in the back of his throat, spine snapping upwards, fingers clawing; white-hot oblivion returned, but James realized he’d been sorely mistaken; it was so, so much better as pleasure than pain, the gentleness from before still driving him mad, still shattering everything he had, but he could do nothing but clench tighter and keen and shout as Sparrow’s hips moved quicker, rhythm gone, sense gone, life gone; there was nothing of him left, soul laid bare to God, to Jack, to brown, glowing eyes and hot white teeth that grasped his ear and whispered a command he was so very happy to follow, hearing Jack follow him with a roar. His body was overtaken by tremors and sleep and he sank into them happily.

 

 

James felt the weight of the cool wood against his fingers, staring down at the sleeping man in the tangle of sheets he’d just left. He did not open it; he would not like what he saw. His fingers curled, crablike around the black surface and he made his way above deck. They were coming up to land, that much he knew; it had disappeared with the sunlight, just out of reach. He stared into the murky water and wished he could just throw the wretched thing over the side. He sighed, tugged free one of the smaller boats and watched it wallow in the water before clambering down, curling his fingers around the oars and beginning to row.

 

 

It took him a matter of days to find Barbossa; he had, after all, wanted to be found, seeing as James had something for him. He clambered aboard the _Pearl_ in Tortuga and could feel only a slight sense of nausea as he was painfully reminded of its previous captain. Barbossa strode down, smiling broadly. “I knew you’d establish the means, Admiral,” he said amicably as he reached the bottom of the steps, descending from the wheel onto the deck. He spread his arms, his eyes glittering malevolently. “I take it you have the goods?” James nodded.

“Our agreement?” Barbossa nodded at the one he recognized as McAvinger, who went below, bringing out Elizabeth and her son. With a careful look at Barbossa he went over, gripping hold of her hand. “Are you alright?” he whispered, and she smiled, gripping back.

“Yes, we’re fine, I told him you’d come back!” James smiled down at the boy, but was reminded too much of the life he’d lost and looked back at Elizabeth.

“We’re to be dropped here, in Tortuga, the moment I hand over the compass. We’re not far from freedom now, Elizabeth,” he whispered, but his mind was far away with another whose heart he’d so shamelessly stolen.

“As much as reunions touch a nerve, I fear it may be the wrong one in me, for I’m getting mighty impatient,” Barbossa sounded from behind him. James reluctantly let go of Elizabeth’s hand, turning to face him. “Now, the compass.”

“Drop her first. When she and her son are safely ashore, I will give you the compass.”

“What’s to stop us rushing you now and taking it of you?” Barbossa snarled.

James looked back at him with sharp eyes. “What’s to stop me jumping overboard? Elizabeth. You are the man in control, Barbossa. I will give you everything I promised.”

Barbossa nodded, and Elizabeth and her son were escorted to the safety of the shore; she peered up at him with anxious eyes, waiting for him to follow her down. James reached into his shirt and pulled out the compass, dropping it firmly in Barbossa’s hand. Barbossa smiled. “Feel free to step ashore, Admiral,” he jeered, and James moved across to walk down to Elizabeth. “It seems we have a need to find Jack Sparrow, gents,” he cackled to his crew, and James froze on the lip of the boat.

“What for?” he said as he turned around.

Barbossa shrugged. “I have a debt needs settling. He shot me. It’s his turn.”

James moved forward, pacing a little more angrily. “This was never part of our agreement,” he snarled.

Barbossa nodded. “No, you’re right, Sparrow’s safety was never part of any agreement we made.” James struggled as he was gripped from behind, a blade settling on his throat. Barbossa’s fingers slipped beneath his collar, tugging it down to reveal the row of teeth marks James knew to be there. He frowned, running a finger across the marks, and James hissed in the back of his throat. “I wonder, Admiral…” he said slowly. “What is it you want most?” Barbossa flicked out the compass, forcing James’ hands to clamp around it. He prayed, wished with everything he had, tried to remove any trace of Jack from his mind, but when Barbossa flicked open the lid the arrow pointed straight and true. “Not me dead, nor Elizabeth, it would seem,” Barbossa murmured, eyes flicking to the docks; the arrow pointed off into the horizon. “It seems to me, Admiral, that for reasons of your own you seem to be overly concerned as to Jack Sparrow’s safety at the moment, and therefore seek him to make him safe.” Barbossa smiled slowly. “It would appear the Admiral will be useful in locating Sparrow,” he called, and his crew jeered. He struggled against the arms holding him, tried to drop the compass, do anything to stop them finding him, but Barbossa cackled. “It seems we have our heading, gents,” he grinned, and their laughs followed him into unconsciousness as he was struck around the back of the head and everything swam into darkness.

 

 

The _Pearl_ was faster than any ship Jack could have stolen; it took them next to no time to locate him, James’ arrow pointing true whenever Barbossa forced the compass into his grasp. They were closing in; James stood with Barbossa behind the wheel, a sword pressed neatly into James’ neck as the compass rested in his hands. “When we reach the ship, gents, cross over. Don’t bother leaving any alive, but Sparrow is mine.” James struggled again, but Barbossa clamped a hand around his arm. “The Admiral can stay here with me and watch,” he drawled, eyes glinting in glee as James just looked back. In the horizon, he saw the unmistakable glitter of light on a scope, and let his face drop towards the deck, hoping Jack would at least understand that he didn’t want to be here.

“Let me go over first,” James said quickly as the boarding crews prepared themselves. “You have nothing against Sparrow’s crew or his boat and I can persuade him to come to you, and once you defeat Sparrow then they’ll follow you without question.”

Barbossa’s eyes narrowed. “They’ll run you through the second they see you,” he said, and James shrugged.

“It’s no more than I deserve,” he whispered softly, face falling towards the deck.

Barbossa’s eyes narrowed. “Very well. We let the Admiral over to the ship, he brings Sparrow back, and then we slit their throats together and send them over, with yet another ship under our command.” The men chuckled around him. The arm around him was released, and he was unceremoniously shoved across the side of the boat. Knowing there was little to stop Barbossa blowing Jack out of the water as it was, he burst into a quick front-crawl, nearing Jack’s ship and climbing up the rigging at the back, flopping over and up against the sword of his former captain.

Jack was staring down at him with blank eyes, his sword pressing against James’ throat. “It was you that lead them here. I feared the worst.” He sheathed his sword and turned to bark orders at his crew, peering back at the _Pearl_ behind them. James pushed himself up off the side, shaking the majority of the wet out of his clothes before coming to stand behind him. He knew no combination of apologies or explanations would ever help.

“It’s just you he wants, Jack,” he said softly. “He’ll let the rest go.”

“Here to negotiate, eh?” Jack’s voice was bitter.

“I’m here to get you out alive,” he whispered, and Jack rounded on him, pressing his swordtip against James’ throat.

“There was only one moment when I thought that was true, and it has passed and proved me wrong,” he snarled quietly, and James couldn’t read the amount of betrayal in Jack’s eyes.

“I’m not here for apologies or forgiveness, or to clear my conscience.”

“But not because you care, it would seem?” James’ face burnt in indignation, and he bit down a snarl in the back of his throat.

“I’m here to get you your ship back,” he murmured when he got his voice under check. “And I don’t suppose this will go very far to proving it, but it is yours as well, after all.” He opened his hand and pushed the compass into Jack’s hand; it was withdrawn immediately, flinching from James’ touch. “Barbossa was suitably distracted,” he said with a small smile.

“How do I know that you’re not one of Hector’s tricks?” Jack said softly, running his hands across the black box, revelling in the familiar wood beneath his fingers again.

“You don’t,” James whispered. “And I can’t ask you to trust me, but you know there isn’t enough time.” The _Pearl_ was so close now, boarding party almost ready. “He will have double-crossed me. His crew is to board and leave none but you alive.”

“Boarding party, you say?” Jack pondered for a moment. “That’ll leave his crew mighty preoccupied, I wouldn’t wonder, and his ship nigh deserted…” He grinned quickly, marching over, relaying information to Gibbs, who scuttled off to inform the rest of the crew. Beside them, the _Pearl_ ’s crew was jeering, almost in range, though not in sight. One by one, Jack’s crew dived over the edge silently into the water, as James moved to Jack’s side, their fingers brushing briefly. “Does he know?” Jack muttered gently in James’ ear.

“Yes,” he replied softly, looking at their hands, close together.

“Oh,” Jack murmured, allowing his fingers to press against James’ momentarily before turning to face the hordes landing on his ship. “I welcome you gentlemen aboard my fine vessel,” he called happily, spreading his arms to the empty decks.

“Where is everyone?” a pirate James recognized as Door Pirate number 2, peering around under the piles of rope as if he expected an ambush.

“There is no ‘everyone’. I’m all on me lonesome.” He smiled his best smile, and the other pirates peered up at him suspiciously.

One drew a pistol and clicked off the safety, desperate for blood, but his hand was smacked down by his superior. “Barbossa wants him personally,” he snarled, and the subordinate whined. His eyes scanned over James, and a horribly toothless smile graced his features. “Him, on the other hand…” The pistol rose again, aiming directly at James, who had expected no less than to die on this ship and was not about to worry about it particularly now.

“There’ll be no shooting my men here,” Jack said quickly, moving in front of James, mouth glittering in a half-smile. “You wouldn’t want this whelp anyway, sort of a little weedy, isn’t he? Eunuch,” he added conspiratorially, miming some form of slicing movement with his fingers which had the other men peering at James in disgust and James’ eyeballs rolling up.

“Leave him,” the superior barked, pushing the pistol down. “Go lay the gunpowder,” he said with a malevolent grin, and the others scurried off, smirking broadly and jeering as they went. “You’ve got an appointment to keep,” he said to Jack, and tossed him a rope from the other ship. He and James exchanged a look before James grabbed a second rope, together swinging across and landing on the _Pearl_ ’s deck, feet away from Barbossa. Jack quite unnecessarily stepped in front of James, who found his eyes rolling again but bit back a sigh.

“Hector,” Jack exclaimed happily, waving his arms. “It has been too long, has it not?”

Barbossa turned with a smile, pistol pointing at Jack’s chest. “Aye. Much too long.”

Jack’s smile wavered, and he bowed slightly. “Have you consulted the compass yet?”

Barbossa peered at him for a moment suspiciously. “I haven’t needed to, your crewmate has been quite helpful in leading us right to you,” he jeered, and James found himself shrinking behind Jack slightly before hating himself for it and stepping out beside him.

“It was hardly help when it was involuntary,” he snarled slightly, and Barbossa’s eyes strayed to him momentarily, smile unwavering.

“I have a strange little thing with welcome, Admiral, and I suggest that you do _not_ want to outstay yours.” James did not reply, simply standing up next to Jack, eyes watching out for the signal from Jack’s ship.

“Well, since you’ve got yourself such a good prize, why not use it, hmm?” Jack’s eyes glittered. Barbossa rolled his eyes, patting the front of his shirt, and Jack’s smile widened. “This?” he said eventually, bringing out the black box from inside his shirt, Barbossa’s incredulous face sparking off happy spirals in James’ stomach.

“How the _devil_ – ” Barbossa spluttered, striding forwards, safety clicking off the pistol.

“It was me,” James said quickly, and Barbossa swung the pistol round and shot him.

James felt the world explode into pain and the deck hit his side harshly; heard Jack’s yelp beside him; _just a leg shot_ , he realized, gasping, pushing himself up off the side of the ship and glaring at Barbossa, the pain causing an eruption of stars whenever he shifted, his blood trickling in a hot, sticky mess down the side of his leg. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Cotton’s parrot land on the _Pearl_ ’s wheel, but Jack hadn’t noticed it, and if he messed up now – Barbossa was striding forwards again, grinning. “Jack, Jack,” he drawled, mouth spread open in a smile. “You do allow yourself to get attached.”

Jack’s face was almost as white as James imagined his to be, but he smiled shakily and shrugged it off. “Jack,” James rasped, and Jack’s eyes flickered to him, finally picking up on Cotton’s parrot and smiling broadly. He moved his feet sideways, shuffling further towards the side, grin still firmly in place. James’ mind was fogged with the blood loss and pain, but he forced himself to stay conscious, watching out for Jack’s crew who were silently moving up the outside of the craft, Barbossa’s crew still preoccupied in laying the gunpowder on Jack’s ship; the only people on the _Pearl_ save for Jack and himself was one other crew member; McAvinger, he remembered him being called, and felt a hot surge of anger fill him.

Jack was wittering on across the deck, drawing Barbossa closer to the side of the ship, and Jack took the opportunity to distract McAvinger. “Are you naturally that disgusting, or do you have to apply it every morning?” he gasped out; it wasn’t inventive, it wasn’t intelligent – all in all, it was a bit pathetic, but with pain searing across his mind it was all he could do to stay conscious, never mind think of witty retorts. It did the trick; McAvinger rushed at him with a roar, and James crouched at the last moment, sending the other plummeting into the ocean. Across the deck, Jack grabbed hold of Barbossa’s arm and jerked; the other lost his balance momentarily and fell over the side, whilst Jack’s crew swarmed up and onto the _Pearl_.

“Trouble,” said Jack quickly as those aboard Jack’s old ship saw what they had done and attempted to board; they were saved by the pirates’ stupidity as in their rush to return to the _Pearl_ they tripped over one another, including the one holding the fire to set alight the gunpowder trail, which ignited rather spectacularly and snaked off into the bowels of the ship. James’ eyes closed at the fireball and despite a panicky hand clasping around his found himself incapable of opening them again for some time.

 

 

He bit back a hiss as the present emerged in a ball of messy, painful stickiness. Pushing himself up on his elbows he inspected an unprofessionally-bandaged leg for signs of infection, easing it out of the bloodied sheets for cleanliness’ sake. He tilted his head; creaking and groaning and lack of sound informed him it must be quite late, alongside the faintest hints of a snore from below. He swung his feet down to the floor in an attempt to stand; failing due to a large sting of agony, he groped around in the semi-darkness until he located some form of driftwood which vaguely resembled a crutch and he moved out onto deck.

He closed his eyes, revelling in the sting of salt on his face, feeling immensely happier for having been extracted from the gloom below. He leant on the rail, staring below him; the water seemed less menacing than before, and however inviting he knew that with this damned hunk of flesh for a leg he’d never survive a dip.

There was a vaguely panicky noise behind him and a shout of “Captain! CAPTAIN!”, to which he let out a long sigh and turned round to watch Jack emerge from below, eyes bleary and foggy from a lack of sleep.

“I dunno, I go off to find some rum and you choose _that_ momen’ out of the last thirty odd hours to wake up. That’s what I call dissress. Dissreesss. Dissysiss…” He gave up with another swig, moving rather cautiously to stand beside him, peering at him nervously. “You’re real, aren’t you?” He poked. James sighed.

“There’s rum,” he murmured, nodding towards the bottle. “Does that suggest reality?”

Jack seemed to frown for a moment. “Generally, no, but this stuff is godawful cat’s piss so due to the rather hounding laws of irony probably yes, this is real. Then again, in reality I seem to remember the only James Norrington in my acquaintance running off to a certain Hector Barbossa whilst helpfully alleviating me from the burden of my compass.” An eyebrow was raised.

“Is this the same James Norrington standing next to you now?” James murmured, running a hand across smooth wood.

“I don’t know,” Jack mumbled, and for once he sounded completely honest. “I don’t know.”

James sighed. “I’m sorry, Jack,” he whispered, and the sincerity must have hit true, somewhere, for Jack smiled and murmured once before leaning in to kiss him.

“I know.”

 

 

It was a particularly stroppy Elizabeth they finally met up with at Tortuga; grasping her son’s shoulders firmly she slapped James once about the face before hugging him tightly. “Oh, I thought you must have died,” she whispered, and he laughed.

“It didn’t stop me before,” he smiled, looking at her fondly. “I just got a little sidetracked helping Captain Sparrow acquisition his precious _Pearl_ before I came back for you.”

“I thought he’d lost it, after the siege at Port Royal three years ago, but there she is!” Elizabeth stared at the ship affectionately, one hand still on her son’s shoulder.

“You could still come with us, you know,” James offered again, but she shook her head.

“I’ve had what you might call a shifting in priorities,” she said with a smile, grasping her son’s shoulder tightly. “When Barbossa kidnapped him I thought I would die if Will never got to saw him, so I have to keep him safe.” She leant over and gave James another hug. “Find me whenever you’re in port.”

“I promise,” he smiled, and watched her walk away, turning back to the _Pearl_ and mounting it slowly with the vaguest semblance of a limp, walking up behind his captain.

“We’re ready to go,” Jack said softly, his eyes watching Elizabeth walk away. “You don’t have to.”

“If I wanted to go with her I would not have hesitated to do so. Entwined, but never destined to meet.” He smiled to himself, turning to face Jack. “You, I don’t seem to be able to get rid of. Besides, I have a lot of grovelling to do.”

“That much is true,” Jack grinned, watching as the anchor was retracted and the ship was allowed to pull away. He ran his fingers across the wheel, revelling in the spokes’ imprint beneath his fingers.

“Where to?” Gibbs asked from below, and he pushed his hand into his shirt, wrapping his fingers around his compass and bringing it into the light, peering at it in order to gain the ship’s heading.

Jack watched the needle flicker and settle resolutely on James, who was standing staring at Tortuga shrinking into the distance. “You’re going to be quite a peculiar nuisance,” he remarked, watching as James walked closer and pressed lips to the nape of his neck. Once the action was performed the needle seemed to change its mind and flickered off onto the horizon. “It’s as good a heading as can be expected,” Jack said with a smile, and turned the wheel, and the _Pearl_ slithered off into the horizon.


End file.
